Raising Flags
by girl in the glen
Summary: Sometimes it's a red flag of caution, sometimes it's just a red flag. Comments are always welcome.


"George, you must be joking. There's no way in the world that you can land a date with Marilyn before I do. In fact, well… let's face it George." George Dennel waited for what seemed like several minutes before jumping in.

"Face what Napoleon? That you're more suave, more handsome… ''

Illya had been listening to this ridiculous conversation for longer than he wanted to admit. He'd had enough.

"Will you two quit this and just ask the woman out. She will say yes or no, and then the entire thing will be settled. I for one doubt that she will have either of you… blockheads."

That was enough to spur on the dueling pair of Romeos. George had been admiring Marilyn Lacey for weeks now, ever since she first clocked in for her first day on the job. Napoleon had flirted with her, figuring that he would entice her over time with subtle innuendo and that disarming smile of his. Oh yes, he knew it was disarming.

"Fine. Just… fine. Napoleon?" The CEA looked amused, but he didn't want to hurt old George's feelings. He'd not started this little match, but as the top agent in New York Headquarters there was a certain responsibility to not stir up trouble.

"Look George…' He started to back down but then George got a look on his face that was pure determination and more than a little bit challenging.

"I say may the best man win. We both go to her and make our case for why she should go out with only one of us. Deal?" George smiled, perhaps a little less confident than a few minutes ago, but a smile nonetheless.

"Deal."

Illya just shook his head. His amusement at this little episode had waned, he was genuinely embarrassed for both of his friends. Napoleon had never let a challenge for a woman's affections gain any attention, and now this little showdown was going to be conducted in front of a good portion of the staff.

Walking away from the spot where the conversation had finally ended, Illya had to speak to Napoleon and hoped the answer would be that George could just have the pretty blonde who had stolen his heart.

"Are you seriously going to do this?" Napoleon's chin was leading his body as he strode purposefully down the corridor.

"I am. And I will win."

"Win?"

"Of course. That's the point, winning." Illya shook his head again, the sheer idiocy of this little exercise beginning to annoy him.

"Napoleon Solo, you know very well that the chances of humiliating George are very high, and in front of other people. Why are you insisting on following through with this? You act as though a rogue knight has thrown down the proverbial gauntlet and you are honor bound to answer."

Napoleon stopped walking, causing Illya to back up in order to continue speaking to him.

"What is this really about my friend?" Illya had a hunch that Napoleon was acting out of some other motivation, but what it had to do with George Dennel was beyond him.

Napoleon took a deep breath and then looked at Illya.

"Marilyn is a plant. Mr. Waverly and I have been tracking some suspicious activity…' He took Illya by the shoulder and guided him into an empty office before continuing.

"We were going to inform you of this but then the thing with George came up and… well, I had to do something. He can't go out with her, and when he broached the subject with me I had to do something, say something…"

"That wouldn't betray the investigation. I understand." Illya knew there was another explanation, although this was not what he had expected.

"So, do you suspect that she is THRUSH?" That was the obvious question to ask, but it always shocked him to think that people like Marilyn Lacey could work willingly for the Hierarchy. What had they offered her, he wondered.

"We think she may be working for someone, but so far we haven't been able to make a connection to THRUSH. It's just circumstantial at this point, but something is off." Illya considered that for a moment, then remembered hearing her speak a Russian phrase to one of the other women. She seemed to be relating a story, but it had struck him as odd somehow. Now he wondered about where she had come from.

"Let me check her out. I know you and George are engaged in this dating showdown, but in the meantime…" Napoleon recognized something in Illya's tone that alerted him to the Russian's suspicions.

"What? What do you know?"

"Nothing concrete, but she speaks Russian." Napoleon whistled at that. Sure there were people who spoke various languages within UNCLE, but her background hadn't included foreign languages. She was a secretary with low level clearances.

"Do you think she's here to spy on you?" A raised eyebrow said enough for Napoleon to change his tactic.

"Ask her out. Do it now, before George can get to her. We need to know why she's here, and if she's KGB or … well, we need to know."

Now it was Illya heaving a heavy sigh.

Two nights later found Kuryakin and the lovely Marilyn dining at a cozy little restaurant that featured a wait staff heavily populated by UNCLE employees. Marilyn didn't know any of them, but they were there to keep an eye on the two, making certain that no one was after the Russian agent.

Marilyn cooed her approval as a dessert was delivered.

"Ooh, pastila. Illya, how…?" She flushed slightly as the pink colored confection arrived. Illya knew that it would be very unusual for someone other than a Russian, or one familiar with Russian cuisine, to know of pastila.

Illya feigned surprise at her recognition.

"You know this dish? I am surprised, it is uniquely Russian, and not served many places here in New York." His eyes were piercing as he set his gaze on her, not blinking or shifting in any way.

"Oh, I… well, I have friends…' She sat back in her chair and smiled.

"No, you have me Comrade. How did you know?"

Illya related his observations, watching her reaction as he mentioned the faux pas she had committed by speaking the Russian phrase to one of the other women. It was serendipity that he should have overheard her, although that was not the word she would have used.

"I am very glad you asked me to dinner Illya. I have been watching you, although I have not reported everything to my superiors. It really was very sloppy of your UNCLE to not catch me sooner, or worse that they hired me at all. It does not bode well for you I fear, should our masters decide that you are more dangerous here than you are useful."

Illya was still watching her, trying to decide if she was lying or simply buying time. Perhaps … perhaps neither.

"Marilyn, or whatever your real name is…"

"It is Marilyn. I was raised in this country, I am more American than you are." Illya smiled at that.

"But I have never pretended to be an American. I am Russian, I will always be Russian. Which makes me more honest than you are… Marilyn." With that he got the attention of one of the waiters, motioning for him to come to their table.

"Please bring us our check, and inform our UNCLE that we have solved our relationship issues." The Section III agent nodded and did as Illya had asked. When he and Marilyn reached the front door a van was waiting for them at the curb.

"Are we taking this back to Headquarters?" Marilyn was hoping for better rather than worse.

"No, I am afraid that you are going to make this trip by yourself. I won't be joining you." He felt sad as he shut the door behind her; sad for Marilyn, sad for himself. Sad for the whole sorry mess that seemed to never go away.

The driver of the van had instructions to deliver Marilyn Lacey to the FBI offices in Manhattan. She was an agent of a foreign power, unregistered and very likely to be sent home to an uncertain future. Illya had no choice but to follow protocol. Had she been allowed to continue his own life might have been at risk. It didn't make things easier for him, nor did it ease the lump in his throat as he considered all of the angles.

Napoleon was waiting for his partner when Illya walked into Waverly's office. The mood was somber, the reality wrenching.

"I'm sorry Illya, that couldn't have been easy." Napoleon knew his friend did not send Marilyn away without remorse. If only it could have been different.

Alexander Waverly was watching his agent closely, certain that had he been given a choice in the matter, he might have let the woman go. He hadn't, but then Mr. Kuryakin wasn't in charge.


End file.
